Champlong, Haute Loire
Oh well the taxi didn’t make it to France after all the work and hassle of getting the engine rejuvenated. It was all a bit of a rush to get it back to Brighton and then to take it off on a 1000 mile trip without running through any teething problems would have been a risky undertaking, possibly similar to running a marathon post major heart surgery. On the plus side I’ve saved myself a substantial few quid on diesel and my battered Citroen is a good deal quicker though lacks somewhat in the character stakes. Our French house is as comfortable and shambolic as ever and the time slips away very quickly here, no sooner than you’ve had breakfast it seems to be time for lunch then no sooner again the evening beer seems to be in my hand. I finished the Zadie Smith novel which has been by my bedside for far to long and ripped straight into Ian McEwan’s Enduring Love which is so beautifully written that every sentence leaves you wondering… genius. Besides the usual work on building projects around the house (one of which has left me with a nice cut across the face and an associated black eye) I have had a bit of time to reflect on my photography and what next to pursue, but that I’ll leave for another post. Time for lunch.